MFM Minisode 475

This is exactly right. Hello and welcome to my favorite murder. The mini-sode of squiggles. And stripes. And stripes if you're watching this right now. And Netflix, we're sorry if we're giving you a seizure. We're trying to make it as exciting as possible for you. Forgot that patterns don't work great on TV. Let's be honest. I had a sweater on and I had to bail because I am a middle-aged lady. I have squiggles. I don't know on a fucking solid piece of clothing. I don't know what I'm going to do. You love a prince. I love prince. But at least you're smart enough to wear short sleeves. So you can work with the bizarre temperatures your body serves up. I'm in Perry, menopause. And all I do is get hot and then hot. I'm not as hot. I know I refuse to learn. I have to fight. OK. Look at first. OK. Look, I'm not going to do the title. Hello, my murder besties. I'm listening to a fan called Mini and had to pause to write in a memory that was just triggered. Picture it. Me, a junior in a Texas high school in the early 2000s, my brother a sophomore in the same high school, locked down drills, and all the things my kids now experienced were in their infancy. We had a lockdown procedure, but it was rarely practiced. And it wasn't taken as seriously as it is now. Fucking awful. Suddenly we hear an announcement over the loudspeaker saying we are going into lockdown, and it was not a drill. Apparently there was an arm burglary in the neighborhood across the street from our school. And the police were chasing the guy towards our school. Don't run towards us. Here, just head over toward the school. Yeah, that's the big one. In the lunchroom, right? And then they were chasing him in our school because in the 2000s, schools didn't have multiple locked doors. You had to get through to make it into the building. We live in the worst reality for children and with guns. And this idea that we're all so used to it, when it was just 20 years ago that none of this was how it was. Imagine this. If you don't care that they're guns and killing children, then you can't be pro life either. It's not, it doesn't fucking match. You can't pick and choose which children you want to live or die. Go fuck yourself. Anyway, it says all of that in that email. OK, well, I guess you had to read it. Allegedly, go fuck yourself. My class was on the bottom floor. We could hear the police radio yelling and running as it fades away down the hall. A few minutes later, we hear a loud banging and then breaking glass. So of course, our teenage brains tell us to look out the window into our school's courtyard where the sound was coming from. And just in time to see a guy jump from the second story, art class walkway, and on to the ground, barely missing the lunch picnic tables. God. The guy looks shaken, possibly injured from his escape attempt. So he's slow to get up and gives the admin and police time to swarm him and he was arrested. Fast forward to later that day. My friends, siblings and I were recounting what we knew about the lockdown. My brother tells us that he was in art class when the guy broke the window and jumped in front of him. And we were all amazed. Tell us everything. Well, it turns out, my brother heard a knock on the art door and recognizing the kid knocking. He opened the door for him, thinking he must have been in the bathroom or something when we went into lockdown. This kid turned out to be the same guy, the police were chasing. So he opened the locked door to let the suspect do this. The time my brother opened the door for the bad guy. No. The kid grabbed a chair, beat at the window until it broke, and then jumped to escape while the police were trying to make their way into the locked classroom. Because of course, my brother locked the door behind him after letting the kid in. Yes, that's right. Fucking teenagers. Soft, more boys. Don't give them any responsibilities. Turns out this kid was just as good a jumping out of a window as he was at being a burglar. And that's the story of how my brother let the bad guy in. And why are school put out more rules and training for lockdown drills? She was just testing them this kid. Yeah, it's right. S-S-S-D-G-M, Angela G, she, her. Yeah, this world we live in. The reality of this world is so... Is why we need to go into the reality of other worlds. Okay, if I'm gonna say like maybe cryofrease mode and just give it a couple fucking centuries to see if we get smarter. So we just wake up and be like, oh no, it's just like idiocracy. Okay, I won't reach its subject line. It says, hi ladies, love your show. It's got me through many, many workouts. I tell my... That's such a thing to say. I like that. I tell my husband that oddly enough, listening to a podcast about murder happens to be the most relaxing part of my day. I hear you. And then it says, ha ha, in parentheses, he doesn't get it. It's different for them. Okay, on with my trash parent story. But really, the Catholic guilt over calling my parents trash parents is a doozy. They really are great people, but we will see what you think after the story. I grew up in a small town in Missouri. My dad was a fireman, and so often, it was my mom, me, and my younger brother alone in the evenings. I really know that. One evening, I was probably about eight. My brother would have been five. The three of us were at home and my dad was on shift. Do you remember in the age of landlines when you could call your own number and hang up really quick and then your home phone would ring? Oh my God. Yeah, I fucking forgot about that. There was all kinds of games and tricks that we used to play on landlines. Because we were bored. Because we didn't have distractions like you guys have today. My favorite in the world is my friend Dave Roth used to do this at his house when we'd like party all night and then stay at his house and be like on the landline, calling people. He would pick up in his room and listen in on your call, breathing really loudly and giggling like he was your little brother. And it was the funniest thing. Like he did it perfectly where he'd be like, like you knew he was there is. Okay. As a kid, it was a great way to mess with other people in the house. On this particular evening, my mom used it against me. I remember the phone ringing and no one answering it so I took it upon myself to take care of it. After saying hello, I heard on the end of the phone, hello, this is the police department. We have an armed man on the loose from prison. Please be sure all the lights are off in your house and all the doors are locked and then click they hung up. Oh my God. My eight year old full body panic. I ran to the back of the house, turning off the kitchen light as I went through, locked the back door and made sure the lights were off, then started running as fast as I could to lock the front door. As I sprinted to the front of the house, my mom jumped out of nowhere and yelled, got ya. What? And then it says, I thought I was going to die. Oh my God. My mom on the other hand thought this was the funniest thing that had ever happened in life. Oh, she was bored too. She was bored and this is something my cousin Stevie does and he does it to me and my sister and his own daughters. Where you're just like, oh, you have to get something out of the garage and you're walking back out and he's suddenly right here like jumping at you. I like sudden people. It's hilariously the scariest thing about time. My mom reassured me that she was on the other end of the phone and it was her poor idea of a joke. Trash parent, I mean, if that isn't it, it's gotta be close, right? If this story doesn't do it, then maybe the time my mom and dad had me shave, yes, shave a shaving cream covered balloon. When it popped and the shaving cream went all over, I cried for hours. I still hate the sounds of balloons popping. Yeah, you get, you gotta go to therapy. This is a prank parents. It's not trash. It's a different style. Prank parents send us your stories. Truly though, my parents are great people. I don't know. They brought themselves up from backgrounds of incredible trauma and broke a cycle of abuse. Did they? Shout out to all parents out there working to break a cycle and provide their kids the life they couldn't have kudos, which is very true. And also it's good devisence of humor and it's good to stay on your toes. Totally and they're not like capital T dramatized. No, but I thought that the end of the lock the house was just gonna be that they were all in bed and they're like, thanks so much for doing that. So we didn't have to get up so smart. The fact that she jumped out and grabbed her is like, I'm sorry, that's an offense. Number 55. I'll be you with your back in knowing how to. I'm about to go watch more football with my dad. Wow. That's why I literally bought a sweatshirt on TikTok shop that says, I hope both teams lose and I'm going to wear it to his house. That is the best thing I've ever had. Right. He's gonna get real man. Okay, we're back in for some compliments. Thank you for all you do, especially in the reassuring me that being rude is not because I'm the worst but because I simply am trying to stay alive. LOL, what a great way to explain it. Thanks for all you do. Trash parents, you tell me, ha ha ha, Rebecca. Rebecca. Rebecca, bad news. We're good news. You're being validated. And also you sound great now, except for maybe the balloon thing which has her birthday parties for you. That's right. But you're gonna be okay. I hope both teams can't lose. I hope both teams lose. Like, that's not how it works. It's so funny. It's argumentatively obnoxious. It's totally, it's defiance. Black sweatshirt, white writing right there. That's so funny. They told us it was a weather balloon, just a glitch. It was a drone. Now it's just AI, I guess. The explanation keeps changing, but the stories don't go away. Video is appearing to show you off I was flying through the air or real. My name is Payne Lindsay and this is High Strange, an investigative podcast about real encounters. Images of that rotating thing captured by US Navy aircraft. Credible people. We have clear things that we do not understand how they were. I talked to scientists, military witnesses, pilots, and people who saw something they can't unsee. There was no other explanation for what we saw that day. I remembered those faces and they were human. This isn't a show about belief. It's about curiosity, skepticism, and investigation into the unknown. High Strange is available now, wherever you listen to podcasts, listen for free on the iHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Get three months, half price, when you switch to an unlimited sim with three. That means quick streaming, faster downloads, and more money to spend on the things you love. Join the UK's fastest 5G network and get your unlimited sim today. Sign up in store or see 3.co.uk. Unlimited 24 month light plan. Proof of switching required, based on Euclis B. Test Intelligence data, 2H 2025. All rights reserved, subject to credit checks and turns. OK, this one's called Jersey and Jersey. Hi, hi, MFM crew. I haven't been listening long enough to be writing in for the garbled sound time, but here we are. So sorry. It's OK. I'm writing because I was listening to rewind of episode 78, the freshest recording. At the beginning of the episode, Georgia talks about going to an oxygen channel, something or other about a new show, where they were talking to new jurors of famous cases. And she said it was fascinating to talk to the jurors as they were just normal people, quote, whose lives returned upside down for a while. I love it when people talk about jurors as real and normal people as I've been one. It wasn't a case that got press. No one has heard about it, but it massively affected my life both during the trial and after. When I got the jury summons, everyone that knew me well knew I was legitimately excited about it. I believe in our legal system, and I believe that serving on a jury is both a duty and an honor. What I didn't expect was to be chosen for a six-week criminal trial that was emotionally very trying. I was one of 12 strangers who had nothing in common except this trial, which we couldn't talk to each other about until it was over, who had been thrown into this really kind of bizarre situation when you think about it. Well, and also I didn't realize that. Aside from the weighing the facts type of stuff, they can't opine to each other about it. They can't be like, I mean, that's crazy. I forgot about that part. We heard testimony that was hard to hear. We saw exhibits that were hard to see. And in the end, we rendered a verdict that sent three young men to prison for 50 years to life. That's like a huge burden that you're going to carry forever. It's huge. And hope that you got right. I don't regret a moment of my service as I listened. I kept an open mind and deliberated in good faith with my fellow jurors. And I really believe that the verdict we rendered was just and right. When I was finally able to talk about it with friends and family, they all agreed, saying essentially, good for you, send those bastards away. And I understand that sentiment and also felt it to some extent. But in the end, really, the most prominent emotion I felt was sadness because there was just so little good about any of it. We rendered our verdict mid afternoon on a random weekday, court ended, and we were thanked and sent along on our way as if we hadn't just been through an unexpected six-week emotional ringer. We all went to a bar and just talked and decompressed. And wondered who all exactly goes to a bar near the courthouses mid afternoon on a random weekday. Fucking juries. We all stayed in touch and got together several times over the next year. We were the only ones who knew what we'd been through and the only other people we could talk about it with. Of course, the intensity of the experience faded eventually and I'm not in touch with any of them anymore, but still have lasting memories and emotions. Serving on a jury truly is a duty and an honor. Sitting in judgment of someone is not easy and it's not perfect. I have so much empathy for jurors who are on high profile cases, just serving on a low profile one is hard enough. Thank you for bringing humor and humanity and empathy into our lives at a time when there isn't a lot of any of that. Stay sexy and feel honored instead of annoyed when you get a jury summons, Jay she her. Yeah, it's big. That's so interesting. It's just like you are sending a human being to the worst place they can go. Right. And for an extended period of time. And you want to give them worse because you hate them, but you can't, you have to go by the rules. You can't look away from the exhibit. Or you don't want to give them. I mean, giving, it's like that idea of like you suddenly understand what we're really talking about. Sending people to a place you couldn't spend five minutes in. For years and years. It's just like just yeah, see how like it really works. It actually works or doesn't work. Yeah. All right. We'll change the tenor of this tiny bit with this subject line barking and entering. Hello, and welcome to my hometown story. Living in Louisville as a young adult, I share to house with a rotating cast of friends. One of them, let's call him P, the initial P, unfortunate, was dog sitting and running late. He called and asked if I could let the dog out since he wouldn't make it there for a while. No problem. I grabbed the key for his room. I walked about a half a mile to this random condo, let myself into a stranger's home, scooped up the sweetest little bulldog, and took him outside to do his thing. Easy. Until we tried to go back inside. The door had auto locked behind us, and I had left the key inside. I screamed some profanities and sat down on the porch to moat. The word moat is so perfect. While the dog explored the yard, I had left my phone and everything inside the worst of that feeling. I did not want to spend the next two hours loitering on a stranger's porch, waiting for P to come along. Since it was a one-story condo, I had the very innocent thought, and very innocent, as in like Astray Hicks, to try and climb into a window. I went around back. Yeah, it's very innocent, according to you. I went around back and spotted a small, sliding window cracked open, sweet. I'd be out of there in no time, but having zero experience with break ins, that's not how it went. I fully opened the window, stared at the screen for a while, jiggled some things with zero confidence, and ultimately gave up. Shiggled some things. I returned to the front porch to accept my fate. Seconds later, a man burst out of the neighboring condo, just a few feet away from me, dripping wet, wearing nothing but a towel. He scanned left and right before locking eyes with me, and screamed, did you see anyone out here? Someone was trying to break into my house. Oh no! This guy was ready to fight. I stared at him blankly for a solid seven seconds before saying, oh, yes, sorry, that was me. I clarified that I was actually trying to break into his neighbor's house, and he did not wait for further explanation. He simply turned around and stomped back inside. Screws a neighbor, right? I remained on that porch for a full two hours, until he finally arrived. At some point, the towel guy re-emerged, now fully clothed. We exchanged a wave and a plate smile. In retrospect, I probably should have asked him out, just for the, how did you two meet story? Yay! Stay sexy and always carry the key, Kate. I broke into a house maybe a couple of years ago, that we were going to look at Vince and I, and they hadn't left the key, or changed to the fucking lock or something, and I was like, we're not fucking coming back. So there was a window, and I fucking squeezed through that window, and I'm on a man. It's all about the will to get it done. Yeah, it felt pretty bad, I asked him not gonna lie. You just, you always can, if you really want to. You can break into anything, that's our message here. I might remember, you can break into any place. Listen, if you just put your heart to it, and you try to feel around and see if some rocks are actually fake and have keys inside. You never know. Tune in to conspiracy theories, cults and crimes, a crime house original podcast, to hear about the world's most shocking secrets and nefarious organizations. Follow conspiracy theories, cults and crimes now, wherever you get your podcasts. And for ad-free listening and early access to episodes, subscribe to Crime House Plus on Apple Podcasts. Okay, baby, murderino origins. Dear Karen, Georgia, and every other four-legged emotional support creature currently in the room, and in our hearts. Hi, my name is Danielle, and I'm from a town in Southeastern Wisconsin. My story starts from I was 11 years old, and somehow involves a medical examiner who should absolutely not have been left alone with a middle schooler. I attended a charter middle school that emphasized community involvement and career exploration. Sounds great. One of our big sixth grade projects was shadowing someone in a career that we were interested in. Most kids pick things like teachers, veterinarians, or firefighters. I, however, confidently told my school, I wanted to be an all-caps medical examiner. Jesus Christ. Also, this seems too young anyway. Yeah, doesn't it? Like your 13, no 11? Yeah. That's very young. Yep, you read that right. To my absolute shock and delight, the school actually paired me with the city's medical examiner for the day. Oh, okay, name. 11, 11. Looking back, this feels like a wildly questionable decision, but at the time I was thrilled, truly a baby murderino in the making. The day started with a full tour of his workspace. And then I love this because you got to think of this guy, this medical examiner, who they approached, she'd maybe like this nerd. Nobody wants to hear how his day was, and no one wants to talk to him at parties because nobody's into fucking all the death that surrounds him. And he smells like formaldehyde. He smells like formaldehyde. People think he's about luck somehow too. And something that's like little girl is like, I wanted to do what you do one day. Tell me everything. You have my hero. I put you made his day. I hope so. Okay, let's just go with that. You don't smell like formaldehyde. I'm sorry. He explained how death investigations worked, walked me through the process of autopsies, and answered every single dark inappropriate question, an 11 year old could possibly ask. And when I say he held nothing back, I mean nothing. I asked about his most intense cases. See, I would have this kid if I could have a kid. Yes. And he was more than happy to share stories and images that in hindsight no child should ever see. Like actual pictures? I hope just no. I hope not. At some point during the day, well here's the thing. At some point during the day he got a call about it. A deceased person on the other side of town. And for reasons I still cannot explain, he let me write along. No. When we arrived, he told me to look away. Like wait, you can maybe ask the parents about like, right, this is crazy. Wait, what year was it? I hope this was 1971. Well, you know what, she was 11 then and she's an adult now. So, yeah, perhaps, yeah. Told me to look away. Naturally, I did not. Yeah. From the back seat, I watched as first responders handled the scene of an elderly woman who had passed away on her front porch overnight. I remember thinking, not fearfully, just very clearly, I don't think my parents realized this is what that permission slip covered. No way. Later I learned there was no foul play. It was a tragic accident, but standing there as an 11 year old, watching a real death investigation unfold permanently rewired my brain. Well, yeah, that's why they don't do that. Totally. That's why you're supposed to look away. That's why you're supposed to stay in the car. So I love the idea of like standing there right on the edge of the crime scene tape. This is like just standing there taking photos with my little trench coat on. My little trench coat and smelling like formaldehyde. And somehow that was not the end of the day. We went back to his office where he continued showing me case files and talking through investigations, murders, accidents, and everything in between with the same casual openness. I love the sky. I mean, he is a doctor like he's, that's how he got taught. Yeah. It's totally normal to him. It is. It's got a toe on that spectrum and he's living life. Someone's got to do this job after him. Yeah. I absorbed all of it. It was fascinating, horrifying, and deeply inappropriate all it was. My favorite. That's right. That day is still one of the most vivid memories of my life. I never became a medical examiner, but I did grow up to be a PhD scientist. Totally shit. And I remain endlessly fascinated by true crime and forensic investigation. It turns out I've been a murdering no-sense childhood. And somehow, the parents who signed off on this whole experience are now also devoted fans of your podcasts. So thanks for letting me share the origin story of my lifelong obsession. Stay sexy and read the permission slip carefully. Danielle. Danielle, I always get shocked when I hear about older people liking this pot. I don't know why it's silly of me. Yeah. But it always is that thing of like, but we swear. Yeah, you sure? It's so bad. You're not mad at us? You're not mad. OK. My mom's mad. I know. OK, I'm not going to read you the subject line of this. It says, dear Steven and everyone else, hey, longtime listener, first time writer, inner. So a couple years ago, I was living in the crappiest department in this really nice suburban Melbourne with two housemates. I was still stupid when I said Melbourne, but you have to, that's the way it says. That's correct. Melbourne. With two housemates, Fiona and Steph, we were stoked to be living in such a lovely leafy green place, even though our ground floor apartment was tiny and all the light was blocked by these giant, twisted shrubs that covered our windows so we could barely see out. So throughout the year we lived there, there were a few times when I would be hanging out in the lounge room that I could have sworn that I heard heavy breathing from just outside the window. It was so loud and over exaggerated that I would always sit completely still, paralyzed with fear until it stopped. And I told myself that I was just imagining it. One time it happened really late at night, and I forced Steph out of her room to hear it. She did, and we were really freaked out because it was so loud and clear that it legit sounded like someone was in the house with us. Fiona looked at us like we were either crazier overreacting as there was no way anyone could be inside without us knowing until one night, Fee was working on her master's thesis until about one in the morning at our kitchen table also by one of these windows. She was tired, delirious, and felt like her thesis was driving her crazy. So when she heard a low horse creepy voice outside, the window saying, run over and over. She wasn't sure if she had finally lost her mind or not. That is the worst run. Sorry, I just did it that way, but that's how it's written. Run, needless to say, she was terrified and quickly packed up her laptop and bolted to her room. She told me the next morning in a nervous joking way. And once I reminded her about the heavy breathing, all three of us freaked out, certainly had a stalker. No, that's not a go-to-bed issue. That's a turn every light on. Wake everyone up. This idea, you're like, OK, I don't want that to have just happened. And it's like, OK, you know what, I'm not going to run. I'm going to lay down to the fucking opposite of it. Just told me to fucking do terrifying flitch. Call, go ahead and call the Australian 9-1-1, please. 9-9-9. OK, we were certainly at a stalker, but what to do? We had no evidence. We weren't 100% sure what we had heard of what we had heard. So we couldn't go to the police. We asked our property manager to trim the hedges and install a security light. They did the hedges, but unhelpfully told us they would discuss the light when the body corporate met again in four months, like HOA. They had no idea what the protocol is for maybe being stalked, of course, not because people won't fucking pay attention to this as a problem. Until you're dead. OK, after a little while of being terrified in our own home, I decided to lay a trap to get some evidence. That's great. On the same night of the week, at the same time, I sat in the exact same spot working on my laptop with no one else home with the voice memo app open on my phone, ready to record the creepy voice as soon as it appeared. I sat there for hours, daring the stalker to come and get me. But when I hadn't heard anything by 2am, I went to bed, weirdly disappointed that my complex sting operation hadn't worked, instead of feeling relieved like a normal person would. Then I heard it. Outside my bedroom window, accompanied by erratic scuttling sounds as well. At first, I was terrified, but I listened really closely and thought maybe the sound wasn't human after all. I jumped on Google and eventually found a clip confirming that what we were actually hearing was a possum. A run for your life possum? That's right, a tiny, vicious, territorial marsupial had caused us weeks of fear and terror. Fiona was both relieved and horribly embarrassed when I told her, but of course, you wouldn't expect to get possums in such an urban area. It's only because there were so many big trees that it decided to terrorize us. Anyway, now it's one of our favorite dinner party stories. We love to tell everyone about that one time we thought we had a stalker. I want to hear it. SSDGM Jane. What does an Australian possum sound like? That sounds like a joke. So it's some sort of run. How does it say run? Run. It's always up at the end. Yeah, run? A run? Oh my god, that's terrifying. I know, terrifying, but then ultimately. But then adorable. Just a little baby possum. And did you make friends with him? Oh, that possums. Send us covered in ticks. Oh, fine. Send us your story about being covered in ticks to my favorite murder at Gmail. Please do not. Every time I find a tick on one of my dogs, it's the most upsetting thing. Oh, I don't want that. It's so upset. They're terrible. They're gross. But you're not, and we love you, and thank you for listening. And also, stay sexy. And don't get murdered. Goodbye. Elvis, do you want a cookie? Ah! Ah! MUSIC This has been an exactly right production. Our senior producer is Molly Smith, and our associate producer is Tessa Hughes. Our editor is Aristotle Acevedo. This episode was mixed by Leonis Koalachi. Email your hometowns to my favorite murder at Gmail.com. Follow the show on Instagram at my favorite murder. Listen to my favorite murder on the I Heart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. And now you can watch my favorite murder on Netflix. And when you're there, hit the double thumbs up, and the remind me buttons. That's the best way you can support our show. Goodbye. He was a young Marine. She didn't care about convention. They made a life together. Then one night, the Marine died. And then the death investigation took a wild, unexpected, and utterly bizarre turn. I'm Josh Megowitz, and this is Trace of Suspicion, an all-new podcast from Dateline. Search Trace of Suspicion to start listening now.